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I’d stopped petting the albino calf, and she nudged me. Then one of her buddies gave me a push from behind, knocking me into the albino. A squeal, and I tried to move out of the way before the third shoved me in the chest.
I would have made it out of the crush too, if my boot hadn’t been stuck in the gloppy mud.
I went down like a windmill, one socked foot in the air and arms wheeling. The calf had still grazed me, and the force, combined with my graceless fall, slammed me into the ground.
My ribs quaked, my lungs empty from the shock and locked by the pain. Stunned, I watched the calves tromp around me, knowing I needed to curl up or crawl away or call for help. Only I couldn’t move or speak, too busy trying to pry open my lungs and hear past the ringing in my ears.
A sharp whistle cut through the chaos, and the calves trotted to the other side of the pen. The sun hammered me into the mud.
Breathe, I can’t breathe, I can’t—
Shade cast over me, and I cracked my eyes to see a silhouette of Jake against the crisp blue sky.
He gathered me to sit, bracing my body against his and inspecting me as best he could. “Are you hurt?”
I shook my head. “Can’t … breathe …”
“You can, just look at me.”
When I met his eyes, I would have told him that was the dumbest thing he’d ever suggested, provided I could speak. Because it was impossible to breathe with his face inches from mine. His eyes were narrowed in concern, the green of his irises crisp and vibrant, even in the shade. Maybe it was the lack of oxygen. I was probably hallucinating. No one could be this perfect, every feature symmetric and aligned. He had to have a flaw besides his shitty attitude. Hairy ears, maybe.
When he turned his head to check my limbs, I noted his stupid ears were perfect too.
Jerk.
“Slow breaths. That’s it.” With his free hand, he checked my ribs.
I wriggled in his arms, coughing instead of laughing. “Stop it,” I rasped. “Laughing hurts.”
I caught a flicker of a smile as he sat me up all the way and let me go. “You could have been hurt, you know. Where’s your shoe?” he asked with his brow quirked.
“Over there.”
The errant boot stood in the mud like a soldier who’d been abandoned at its post.
“You got knocked out of your boots?”
I shrugged and hauled myself up to stand. “I’m disappointed. I’ve always wanted my socks knocked off, so this feels like a real fail.”
“What are you even doing in here?”
“Filming,” I said as I inspected myself, my hands covered in mud and worse.
He set the boot next to my socked foot, which I hadn’t had the courage to fully plant in the mud. “You should have asked me.”
I shot him a dirty look. “I don’t need your permission.”
“Not for that—you’re doing it wrong.”
“I’m shoveling wrong?”
“First, your shovel’s too long for your height. And with that handle, you’re working harder than you have to. Plus, you’ve got the wrong head—a flat head would be easier.”
“Jesus.” I stomped my foot into my boot. “Are you enjoying yourself?”
“I’m not getting onto you. I’m trying to help.”
“Don’t ever go into teaching. There are much easier ways to make kids cry.”
He folded his big arms over his chest. That chest I’d been ogling was streaked with mud, as were his jeans and hands and forearms. He had a little mud on his face that I should have told him about but didn’t.
“So you did all this and nearly got yourself trampled for a stupid video?”
I folded my arms right back at him. “These stupid videos are going to bring people to the farm, so don’t knock it. No one’s asking you to make a fool out of yourself on film. What do you care what I do?”
“If you weren’t being irresponsible, I wouldn’t care.”
I snorted a laugh. “The shop isn’t irresponsible, and you’d rather eat glass than leave me to it.”
“The money it’s costing is irresponsible.”
“Well, Mr. Fixit, what’s your big idea to turn the farm around? Because I haven’t heard any suggestions, just more of the same.”
A shadow fell across his face. “I’ve been in charge for a week. How the hell should I know? I barely know whether or not I’m doing this right, never mind how to change things.”
I paused, cowed. “Isn’t this what you’ve always done?”
With a huff, he dragged a hand through his hair, groaning when he remembered it was muddy. “Some of it, sure. I shadowed Frank enough to know what I’m dealing with, but only in the loosest terms. I … I haven’t done it, not without help. Not without his guidance. So forgive me for not finding the time to put together a business proposal for a job I didn’t even know I’d have.”
